


Thief

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bellarke, F/M, Fluff, Party, Ping-Pong, Thief!Bellamy, bellamy fails at stealing, bellarke AU, clarke wins at stealing his heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's juggling several jobs and school, and he still doesn't have enough money to keep him and his little sister afloat. So what does he decide? He's going to steal from the family of Clarke Griffin, a rich girl who he used to go to school with.</p>
<p>But it doesn't go exactly to plan....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thief

Bellamy Blake drew in a long, slow breath and thought to himself, _I am such an idiot_.

He thought this partially because he was always a bit of an idiot, but, more importantly, because he was currently hanging from the bars of a second-floor balcony by his arms. A balcony that wasn’t his own.

It had seemed like a good idea at first, though it was rather illegal—his family was struggling, and this family, the family of the uptight Clarke Griffin, who went to school with him, was the exact opposite. He was basically Robin Hood—not a real criminal, not a bad guy. He was just trying to make sure his family was cared for, and was that really so bad? It wasn’t like the people he was robbing (or _trying_ to rob, at least) were saints.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure what he was thinking. He hadn’t done anything particularly illegal before, unless you counted when he stole a chocolate bar when he was three, and now he was attempting to break into someone’s house. What had made him go so mad?

But he knew the answer to that, and as he thought about it he felt his eyes sting and his arms grow weaker. He had to steal because even though he had two different jobs to juggle on top of college, he wasn’t making enough to sustain Octavia. Not with his mom now being dead.

The combined thought of his mom and his sister gave him enough strength to continue lifting himself, but before he could the door into the Griffin house swung open.

_Ohhhhh, no._

He considered dropping, but he would definitely break some bones – bones he didn’t have the money to fix – and it would be an admission of guilt if anyone saw. _Any more than hanging from their balcony?_ his brain countered, right as Clarke Griffin stepped into view.

Right now Clarke wasn’t put together like she was at school. She was in light sweats and a painted-on shirt, and her face was devoid of makeup, her hair tangled. Bellamy discovered that, oddly, she looked prettier that way. More like a real human being.

“Um, hello, Bellamy,” she said, coming up to the balcony and staring down at him, and he remembered his predicament.

“Hello, Clarke,” he replied, not sure what else he was supposed to say.

“What might you be doing hanging from my balcony on a Friday morning?” she asked slowly, seeming to be computing six things at once in her mind.

Bellamy went for a sarcastic, joking tone. “Oh, you know, attempting to rob you.”

She laughed suddenly, and he couldn’t tell at all what she was thinking. Frankly, after that calculating stare she’d just given him, it was a little unnerving. “Well, that’s not going to work very well for you,” she said. “You look a little stuck, and we have locked doors and a security system, anyway.”

“Good to know,” Bellamy said with a half-laugh, but it was actually good to know.

“All right, hold on just a second,” Clarke said, and disappeared back into the house.

Immediately Bellamy panicked. Was she calling the police? If he went to jail, Octavia would get thrown into foster care, and there was no way he was letting that happen. But how could he escape? No matter what route he attempted, he would end up convicted—and, if he tried to drop, he’d end up with some broken bones, too. He refused to sit there and let himself be taken, though, so he forced strength into him and reached out, managing to grab the balcony railing and pull himself up. He hooked his legs over and was about to sneak inside, hoping to slip out of their house and make a run for it, when Clarke reappeared.

“Oh, you got up,” she said, looking surprised. “I was going to help you up and over, after I told my mom what was going on, but I guess you’ve got it covered.”

Bellamy blinked. “You weren’t calling the cops?”

She rolled her eyes. “Geez, Bellamy, I appreciate the trust.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him inside. He assumed this was to get him out of her house as quickly as possible, but they ended up at the kitchen instead of the front door.

“Um...what are we doing here?” he asked.

She pulled a glass out of one of the cupboards and said, “Sit.’

He obeyed, though he felt distinctly wrong sitting in the nice, plush bar stool in Clarke’s clean, expensive kitchen when he was just about to rob her. Shifting uncomfortably, he started to speak before she said, “Before you ask why I haven’t thrown you out yet, I figure it’s easier to keep an eye on you in here than if I throw you out. Who knows, maybe I’d just see you back on my balcony in a couple hours.” She set a glass of ice water in front of him.

“Okay,” Bellamy said. There wasn’t much else to say—at least, nothing that wouldn’t get him convicted. He drank the cup in one gulp, savoring the cold rush of liquid down his throat, and sat there in silence a few moments.

“Well,” Clarke sighed, “if I’m going to drag you in here I might as well make it worth your while. Come on, we can find something to do in this place.”

It turned out there was a _lot_ to do in her house—several TVs were scattered across the house, and they had a whole room dedicated to games like ping pong, foosball, video games, and pool. He had to consciously not let his jaw drop – just this room was maybe half his apartment – and he found himself so in awe he forgot to think about why he had come here in the first place.

“So?” Clarke asked.

He raised an eyebrow, not knowing what she wanted. “So....?”

“So, what do you want to do?” She smiled, just a little, and he wondered if it was his silly question that caused that. The thought made him oddly proud. “I will admit I’m pretty good at all this stuff,” she continued, “but I cannot, unfortunately, do them all at once, so you’ll have to pick one at a time.”

“Um...ping pong.” He’d at least played that one a few times before; video games and pool had never appealed to him, and he’d only been around a foosball table once.

“All right, ping pong it is.” She handed him a paddle, and when he took it his skin brushed against hers just slightly, just enough for him to notice. Then she gathered up some paddles and started to set up the table properly. He felt like he should be helping, but didn’t know what to do, so instead he just stood there awkwardly with the paddle in one hand.

They started off easy, just hitting it back and forth and restarting whenever someone (usually Bellamy) messed up. They didn’t keep score, and Clarke chatted to stop any silence from falling over them. Bellamy didn’t do much talking himself; he was too focused on hitting the ping pong ball right. He wasn’t great, but he was all right—or at least that was what he thought before they started playing for real.

Clarke Griffin seemed like a sweet girl, and judging by how she’d treated him thus far, she probably was, but when she played ping pong? That sweet girl was replaced with a demon. She served right in corner of the table, which meant most of her points were aces, and she swiped so hard Bellamy flinched backwards half of the time, worried the ball would go right through his hand and leave a circular hole there. He only returned maybe two serves, and those were on accident.

By the end of the first game, it was 21-6, thanks to a few missed serves by Clarke. “You know,” Bellamy said, feeling more worn out than he’d expected, “I distinctly remember you saying you were ‘pretty good’ at all this stuff, not murderous.”

She laughed and spun the paddle in her fingers. “Maybe I’m just good compared to you.”

He gasped mockingly, smirking a little at her remark despite himself. “Or maybe you’ve rigged the whole game to help fulfill your bloodlust.”

“Bloodlust? It’s just a game, Bellamy,” she said, but she was grinning. He noticed how bright her face got when she smiled, how her whole face opened up.

“Not the way you play it,” he muttered, averting his gaze quickly and trying to remind himself of his place and purpose here.

“One more game then? To prove I really am better than you?” Clarke asked, and Bellamy hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to stay long, and he couldn’t snatch anything when he was playing ping pong with Clarke, no matter how (surprisingly) interesting it was.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” he said, meeting her eyes again. “But this time I start the serve.”

They played not one, not two, but three more sets of ping pong, and as they went Bellamy felt himself start to relax a bit. He bantered a little more and focused more on Clarke than on hitting the ball—which could be better or worse, depending on how you looked at it. She had clearly started to go easy on him at some point, but he was enjoying himself too much to care.

That last thought struck him hard, and he missed an easy serve Clarke knocked over the net; his hand didn’t even reach out for it. He was enjoying himself. He, Bellamy Blake, who was required to be all business, all the time, was having fun with someone he was prepared to steal from.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asked, looking at him with half-curiosity, half-concern freckling her expression. “You okay?”

He blinked hard and bent to get the fallen ping pong ball, using the moment to mold his face back into the mask which had taken him years to build up. When he came up, all traces of weakness were gone from his face, and he said with a small smirk, “Yeah, sorry, just floated away there, I guess. Good thing for you, too; at 16-8 I was clearly making a strong comeback.”

“Okay,” Clarke said, but she frowned instead of smiled, and her eyes were still soft with concern. Bellamy’s heart prickled.

They played a few more serves until Clarke won 21-10, but it was clear their energy had faded. Bellamy tried to apologize several times for bringing down the mood, but Clarke was insistent that he hadn’t done anything and they were both just tired.

As the two ate a granola bar, taking a break from the game, Clarke said suddenly, “Are you getting bored?”

Bellamy blinked, confused. “Bored?”

“Bored,” she repeated. “With me.”

He stared at her for a moment, wondering why she would ask such a silly question. “Of course I’m not.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess,” she said, seeming nervous, like she was trying to express several thoughts but they kept falling out in the wrong order. “But, you know, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to stay forever, and I know you probably have somewhere to be....”

Oh. He saw what was going on now. She was trying to find a nice way to say ‘it’s been fun but leave.’ It made him surprisingly happy to see her effort in this, and he let just a small smile slip through his mask so she could understand that. “You can kick me out, Clarke. I’ve had fun but I obviously don’t want to overstay my welcome, especially with the strange circumstances of my presence.”

Clarke bit her lip. “Okay. Then I guess I’ll show you out.” She started to lead him to the door, but on the way she suddenly stopped. “Wait. Hold on.” He did, perplexed, and saw she was pulling something off her finger. When she held it out, he saw it was a ring—and not some cheap one you could get for ten or twenty dollars. This was the sort of ring you could propose to someone with, the kind you had to buy at a fancy jewelry store. The kind that could pay for the food for Bellamy and his sister for a long time, or their rent, or their bills.

Clarke let out a breath and held it out to him. “Here.”

Bellamy’s eyes opened involuntarily, his jaw going a little slack, and he stared at her. “What?”

She sighed. “Look, I understand you probably don’t like handouts or whatever, and I know you don’t need any pity from me; that’s not what I’m offering you. But I do know you need money, and I don’t need this anyway. Just take it.”

He held up his hands. “No, no, I can’t.” Taking her ring for free when he had come here to steal from her? He couldn’t do that; just the thought twisted his stomach into knots. _Plus,_ he added hastily, _if I’m going to steal from her, I can’t just take a handout. It doesn’t work that way; I have to do it myself._

For a long moment she stared at him with eyes scrunched up in a soft way, seeming to study him, then drew her hand back. “Okay. I won’t push you.” Seeing his cue, he stepped out the door; her expression was impossible to read as she closed the door between them.

“Bye, Clarke,” he said to the open air, and he felt something shift, a key fitting into a lock long rusted away.

\--

A few weeks later, Bellamy was invited to a party which was going to be hosted at, you guessed it, Clarke Griffin’s home. It wasn’t something he really should’ve attended, as it would be one of his only free moments to do homework and he was barely clinging to passing grades in any classes. He was only attending for Octavia, anyway, to pretend they were doing okay, and to encourage her to pursue her own education, despite how much money it was costing him.

Anyway, he shouldn’t have attended the party, but the more time passed, the easier it was to harden himself against Clarke, and the more determined he became to snatch something – anything –he could use to pay for bills and food. He dearly regretted not accepting the ring, handout or not, and he was at a loss for money. This meant he needed to go back into her house, and walking in the front door for a crowded party was much easier than the balcony.

He entered the party in fairly casual wear, not wanting to stick out—jeans, a gray tee, and the black jacket he wore just about everywhere. It didn’t take long for him to find Clarke, or, rather, for her to find him. She called his name and gestured him over to where she was standing on the outskirts of a large group, and even though he didn’t really want to be around her at the moment, social rules dictated that he amused her wishes. So, he walked over, pretending to be interested and not at all planning to swipe something from the house.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Clarke said, surprisingly brightly. Maybe she was putting on an act, too—after all, though it was her house, it was some of her rich friends who had organized the party. She got to play the part of being happy without actually enjoying herself. He almost pitied her.

Almost.

“Hi...Clarke,” he said, feeling suddenly awkward. “Nice party.”

She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even seen it yet; I saw you walk in like two minutes ago. Wasn’t sure if you’d come, actually.”

“Just trying to be polite.” And he was—he figured if he was nice enough, humble enough, polite enough, he might offer her ring again openly and he could just skedaddle with it without doing anything illegal.

“Sure, Bellamy.” She smiled, but it was a sneaky smile, and Bellamy became unsure. “Come on, you can hang out with me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Bellamy said quickly, knowing his plan would be foiled one way or another if Clarke attached him to her hip.

She flashed him a triumphant, amused look with her eyebrows high on her face. “Just trying to be polite.”

He bit his tongue, knowing he was trapped, and obediently followed her. For a while they just wandered, and Clarke introduced him to people, and talked about complete nonsense, and asked him to talk about complete nonsense, too, and even though it was fairly grating on his ears, it was also somehow comforting. A layer of white noise to drown out the demons.

After a while, Clarke led him into a less crowded area, seeming bored of the constant chatter. “So, do you regret coming yet?”

Bellamy blinked. “Um, no. Not...not yet. It’s been fun.” And, surprisingly, he was telling the truth.

This smile of Clarke’s was clearly her real one, the one that showed she was actually happy and excited rather than pretending or being sarcastic or clever. “That’s good.” He liked the way this smile looked on her; it softened her, crinkled her eyes a little and brightened her face.

_Focus, Bellamy._ He straightened and took a quick, hopefully casual survey of the room. There were only three other people, and none would notice anything he did in here—one was so poured into their phone he didn’t even know why they were here, and the other two were staring at each other intensely, as if they were kissing without touching.

Kissing. That word stuck to Bellamy, transforming itself into an idea. He had to get something off of Clarke before he left – her wallet, a piece of jewelry, anything – but he couldn’t just grab it with Clarke fully aware of what was going on. He had to distract her. Distract her _well._

Swallowing, he took a solitary step closer to Clarke, even though they were already comfortably close, and said in a purposefully lower tone, “I really am enjoying myself.”

She lifted her face to him, and he was struck for a moment at how pretty she actually was. Not the sort of pretty you got from her expensive clothes or expert makeup or done-up hair, but the kind that lingered behind her eyes, her smile. It made him nervous to be so close to her—not that he wasn’t already nervous, with being about to pickpocket her and all. But still.

“I’m enjoying myself, too,” she said, slowly. Her voice was rich when she spoke like that; it helped with the act Bellamy was putting on.

“Thanks for a few weeks ago, too,” he said now. “I don’t know if I said it before, so I figure I should say it now.”

She laughed slightly; he rather liked the sound of it. “I’m not sure you should thank me; it was pretty boring after all. And,” she added playfully, “I foiled your master robbery plot.”

“It wasn’t boring,” he said, ignoring the last part.

“Really? Drinking a single glass of water and being beaten by my over-competitive self at ping pong repeatedly was exciting to you?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty. His next words came more naturally than the last ones. “But that may have mostly been because you were with me.”

Something appeared in her eyes, something Bellamy hadn’t seen in her – or any girl – before. It was curious, and touched, and knowing, and unsure. Beautiful. It wasn’t hard to know this was his chance. He leaned forward, touching her arm, and closed the gap between them.

For the first second it was rather simple, but Bellamy couldn’t just give her a peck. He had to make her forget everything. So he held her with both arms, pressing her closer to him, and at once she came alive, much to his surprise. She caught his waist, gripping his shirt, and lifted herself onto her toes eagerly. This was very not according to plan; he was hoping to reach down for her hands, grab the ring on her finger, but he couldn’t do that with her hands on his back.

A moment passed where Bellamy didn’t know at all what to do, and he loosened his grip on her, lost in thought. Clarke, who probably should’ve taken this as a sign to pull away, instead pulled him closer, capturing his face in her hands—gently, yet firmly.

Something shifted inside Bellamy and he responded how she wanted him to—he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back, and he kissed her. He didn’t think about stealing anything off of her, he just thought about her fingers weaving into his hair and the in-and-out of her breath underneath his hands and the rhythmic pounding of both their hearts.

When he felt her cold metal ring brush against the exposed skin of his neck, however, Bellamy was suddenly tossed back into reality. It was as if he’d been woken up by having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, and the effect was a physical weight dropped on his chest. Immediately he drew away from Clarke, pulling her hands away from him and stumbling back a step.

Clarke looked at him intently, as frustratingly beautiful as she’d ever seemed to him. Her eyes were wild, her breath hitched; he was sure it was the same for him. The feeling he had was so strange, like he’d left a hand attached to her and his body was screaming to not leave it behind. So who was the thief now, if she could do that to him?

_What have I done?_ he thought as he stared at her, seeming to dip in and out of a dream. This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to make Clarke forget everything, not the other way around.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I—I have to leave. I have a test, and Octavia...Clarke, I’m so sorry.”

She looked ready to reply, but before she even finished opening her mouth he was running, running from the room and the house and, most painfully, Clarke Griffin.

\--

The next few days were blurred together, not because nothing happened but because he didn’t notice any of it. All he could see, all he could think about, were the last two encounters with Clarke. Why couldn’t he do it? Why couldn’t he just take something, anything? It wasn’t like he was throwing her family into the streets. He wasn’t trying to hurt her family, and he would never hurt Clarke. He was doing it for a good purpose, a life-or-death purpose. He _had_ to protect Octavia. He had to provide for her, make sure she was safe; it didn’t matter how he did that.

Or did it?

These thoughts all tangled together in Bellamy’s mind as he sat crisscross on his bed early in the morning with his homework laid out in front of him. He wasn’t sure why he was pretending to be doing the work when all he was doing was thinking; Octavia was asleep a few feet away, and she could tell he’d been off his game for the last while anyway.

Burying his face in his hands, Bellamy took a deep breath and wondered what to do next, what direction to take—in work, school, money...Clarke. There was no easy answers to be found, at least not in this suffocating, tiny apartment that only reminded him of all his mistakes, all his bad decisions and shortcomings of character, all the things he could never take back....

He swung his legs over the bed and went to the dresser, getting into a pair of sweats, his beloved jacket, and some running shoes, and slipped out of the apartment quietly. It wouldn’t be long, he’d be back to wake Octavia up for school and get to school himself; he just needed to take a walk, sort out his thoughts.

Instinctively he went to the nearby park, known to locals as the Drop Ship. He never quite knew why it was called that—when he was younger people claimed naughty children got dropped off there, left to die. Some said it was where a lot of homeless people who couldn’t fit in the shelter were dropped off at, though he hadn’t seen that many; others said it was just some meaningless name. Anyway, it was where his mom used to take him and Octavia to, and though it wasn’t much, rugged and dirty and fragile as it seemed, it was more of a home to him than anywhere else.

He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and walked with a hunch, not wanting anyone to notice him. The tumult in his mind hadn’t seemed to decrease with the outdoors; in fact, it felt louder now. Even when he sat on a park bench and squeezed his eyes shut, hands over his ears, the thoughts pounded in his mind like water rushing over rocks. He had made many hard decisions throughout his life, but never had he felt so torn between the two people he cared about most.

This thought made him jerk up. Clarke. He had just consciously called Clarke one of the two people he cared about most. When had that happened? When had his efforts to steal from her turned into just wanting to be with her? He didn’t understand it, but he couldn’t deny it.

Before, he’d cared about no one except Octavia; nothing mattered besides keeping her safe, and he worked hard to keep it that way. But when Clarke looked at him like that, like he wasn’t a thief, like he was someone good, somehow he had blown it. He had begun to take her feelings and safety into account right alongside Octavia’s.

And now he was stuck between them.

He looked out over the Drop Ship, trying to give his pounding heart a moment to rest, when he saw something that made it beat faster. Across the way, someone – he didn’t know who – had fallen asleep on a park bench, and a man was leaning over them with an urge Bellamy knew all too well.

Leaping to his feet, he yelled, “Leave them alone!”

The man turned, fear and frustration in his eyes, but he did not move away. Bellamy ran at him, shouting some nonsense about calling the cops even though he didn’t have a phone with him, and the other man suddenly sobered a bit. He took a step back, showing his empty hands, and right before Bellamy reached him, bolted.

Bellamy slowed to a stop in front of the park bench, watching the man flee for his life. He could go after him, chase him down and deliver him to the cops. It wouldn’t be hard; he ran slowly, and a heavy coat wore him down.

He tore his eyes from the man and instead looked at the figure, a woman, sprawled out on the park bench, her face turned from him. She wore nice athletic clothes and her light blonde hair had been gathered in a ponytail. He bent down next to her, heart beating a little faster as his brain connected the dots of who this was likely to be, and gently pulled her shoulder until he could see her face.

“Clarke,” he said gently, nudging her. “Clarke, wake up.”

She groaned in her sleep, a _five more minutes_ sort of sound, but eventually her eyes flickered open. Bellamy didn’t say anything else, struck by how nice she looked even after sleeping on a park bench. Her face was soft when it was straight out of sleep, her cheeks flushed with cold; he wanted to warm them with his hands.

When her eyes opened fully, Clarke turned her head slightly and realized who was leaning over her. “Oh!” She jerked upright, and Bellamy had to lean backwards so she wouldn’t hit him on accident. “Bellamy,” she said, seeming to be at a loss for words.

“Hi,” he said, smiling. She got cuter every time they met; it made him want to meet her more often.

“Um, hi,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and setting her hands in her lap.

“Do you make a habit of falling asleep on park benches when you go for runs?” he asked, still grinning.

She let out a short, breathy laugh and rolled her eyes. “Actually, no, not usually. How long was I asleep?”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. “How would I know?”

A light blush colored her cheeks and she bit her lip, realizing her mistake. Bellamy had the distinct urge to move closer to her, to just be close to her, but he also didn’t want to freak her out or take advantage of her when she’d just spent the night on a park bench. So he just touched her hands, curling his own beneath them and warming them as much as he could, and looked at her.

She looked back.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

“For what?”

“For waking me up, for one. Who knows what would’ve happened if you had found me instead of someone else?” At this point, Bellamy decided it would be best to not tell her how she had nearly been mugged less than a minute before she’d woken, and she continued, a smirk playing on her face. “And also for not robbing me yourself.”

Bellamy blinked, and it took him a full second to process what she’d said. He could’ve robbed her. It would’ve been so easy. He could’ve snitched something small and ran and she never would’ve known. And yet the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind until now, and now that it had, he didn’t even like entertaining it. “Clarke, I wouldn’t....” he started, but faltered.

She gave him a smile he couldn’t decipher. “Oh, come on, Bellamy, please tell me you didn’t think I was oblivious to everyone that’s happened before. You were clearly trying to rob me on the balcony, and I knew you were planning on the same thing when you kissed me, not that I’m complaining.”

He looked at her, confusion and nervousness taking turns plucking at his heartstrings. Her hands were warm. “Then why not just call the cops? Threaten me? Force me to leave you alone?”

Clarke looked at him, soft as he’d ever seen, except maybe when they’d kissed, and squeezed his hands. “Because believe it or not, Bellamy, I know you. The real you. And you are not a thief, not a bad man.”

“Then who am I?” asked Bellamy, desperately.

“You’re Bellamy Blake, that’s who,” she said, as if the answer were so obvious. “You’re the fierce, hardworking older brother who will do _anything_ for his little sister and still have a better moral code than most people I know. You’re the guy who’s so conflicted between surviving and being who he truly is that you can’t even take a handout from the person you originally intended on robbing.”

Bellamy lifted his chin; he felt his hands shake and gripped Clarke’s to steady himself. “You aren’t afraid of me then? You don’t think I’ll turn on you, that I’ll steal or hurt you?”

“ _Hurt_ me?” Clarke asked, looking genuinely stunned. Then she grew gentle. “Oh, Bell, you have so much to learn about yourself.”

He didn’t reply, instead repeating the nickname she called him in his head, savoring the way she said it. _Bell._ Like the word itself was a bell, ringing in his head long after it was spoken.

Clarke’s gaze on his seemed to shift slightly, and she slipped her hands from his. For a moment he felt his heart drop, physically, but then suddenly she was leaning into him and her arms were around his neck and her face was buried against his shoulder. He froze for a moment, but quickly came to his senses and threw his arms around her, securing her tightly within his embrace; his fingers clung to her hair, and he tucked his face against her neck.

They remained that way for a few long moments, just breathing in and out, just enjoying the closeness. There was something incredibly intimate about the moment, even more intimate than the kiss they’d shared. He thought about all the girls he had dated before, and though he had hugged and kissed all of them, it was nothing like Clarke. Even as this thought crossed his mind he cringed at how cliché it was, but he also couldn’t deny it was true. Besides Octavia, he’d never been accepted as more than one thing at a time before, more than a thief or a brother or a boyfriend or a nuisance. And now here was Clarke, after he had tried to rob her _twice,_ and she didn’t see any of it.

“How?” Bellamy asked into her skin. He almost regretted saying it once it came out, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he had to know. “How can you forgive me?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Bell,” she murmured. “You need forgiveness, and I’ll give it to you. But, on one condition.” She drew back and Bellamy’s arms fell limp at his sides, feeling useless when they weren’t around her. “Promise me something.”

Bellamy nodded, slowly.

Her eyes were soft and sad, but also hopeful. “Promise me you’ll learn how to forgive yourself, too.”

Bellamy dropped his gaze from hers for a moment. If she had asked him to never steal again, he would’ve done it. If she wanted him to swim across the ocean or move a mountain, he would’ve done it. He would do it for her. But forgive himself? That act felt wrong to him, impossible even, like he’d be throwing aside the people he hurt by dropping the guilt of what he’d done.

“I know you don’t want to,” Clarke said, touching his face briefly. He didn’t look up. “You think it’s not fair to let yourself have peace when you have done wrong. But the fact is, Bellamy, those people you wronged have moved on. They’ve found ways to deal with the pain, and so should you. Don’t let your demons become you.”

“Maybe I am my demons,” he said slowly, feeling his eyes glisten with oncoming tears. “Maybe I’m a monster. Maybe...maybe it’s too late for me.”

“Hey.” Clarke grabbed his chin, forced his face on even plane with hers, and stared at him, unspeaking, until he caved and looked at her. She looked almost angry, but it was the sort of anger that came from pain, not hatred. “Never say it’s too late. What if you had said that the first time you worried about money for you and Octavia? What if you had given up on doing the right thing when you first showed up at my house a few weeks ago? You’re not perfect, Bellamy, but that’s the point. No one asked you to be, and no one wants you to be either. Especially not me.” Her hand on his chin softened and fell to his arm, and she touched her forehead to his.

“Clarke,” Bellamy whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

“I haven’t heard a promise yet, Bell,” she replied.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he could really promise her this. He didn’t want to let her down. But then he realized he’d be letting her down if he _didn’t_ promise her this. If he didn’t try. “I promise.”

“Good to hear,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Her nose brushed against his then, and he had just enough time to lift his face to her when their lips pressed together.

For a few moments he forgot everything but Clarke. He replaced his fears about who he would become with the feel of her cheeks beneath his fingers; he took his financial worries and traded them for Clarke’s hands on his back; he forgot about the frightening future ahead and reveled only in how much he loved being in her arms. He knew he’d have to face it all eventually, but he didn’t mind so much, because he knew he didn’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.

Someone whistled loudly, and Bellamy suddenly became aware that they were not, in fact, alone, but were in a public park with people walking by. Hesitantly, he pulled away, checking Clarke’s face for her reaction. She was grinning, a deep blush across her face, and the sight made him smile. “You’re cute,” he told her, just in case she didn’t know.

She kissed his nose. “So are you. We’d better get going, before someone decides to call the cops or something.”

“Now that would be an ironic ending,” Bellamy said, pretending to ponder it. “I’m almost tempted....”

“Oh no you don’t,” Clarke said, standing and pulling him up with her. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. Otherwise I might just find you hanging from my balcony again.”

“What, like Romeo?” Bellamy joked, grinning from ear to ear. “You want me to throw pebbles? Compare you to the sun?”

She made a gagging sound and shoved him playfully as they started walking. “Geez, no. Romeo creeps me out.”

“That’s comforting, at least. I never could see why people like that relationship; it lasts three days, Juliet is thirteen years old, and it causes, what? Six deaths?” Bellamy said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, and it manages to romanticize suicide, which is just downright awful. I’d much rather live for someone than die for them,” she said, and slipped her fingers between his.

He looked at her and saw she was looking, too. “I think I can get on board with that,” he said, smiling. “As long as you promise to wait more than a day before you marry me.”

She blushed so deep her whole body seemed to glow pink, but she said, “Deal,” anyway.

As they walked back to his apartment, Bellamy kept his hand firmly in Clarke’s. He could feel her ring, cold against his skin, and let it remind him not of his wrongs, but of the new promises he was making, and the future ones he hoped to make. He held onto her tightly, and he knew there was nothing that could prevent him from letting go.


End file.
